Years After
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: The year is 2012, and things in Gotham are a little different. Batman is no longer needed, and his Rogues' Gallery mostly all come to sanity. But when a new force threatens to bring back the criminals, will the Dark Knight reemerge?
1. Happiness of a Life After Crime

Author's Note- IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ! A new Batman fic for all! A few notes about the timeline of this fic. This totally disregards the Batman Beyond story line. That includes Return of the Joker. Also, I'm covering the events of Batman: The Animated Series Seasons 1 through 4, as well as Justice League Seasons 1 and 2, and Justice League Unlimited Seasons 1 and 2, excluding, of course, the Batman Beyond tie-ins. Also, B: The Animated Series Season 1's events—for all intents and purposes for this fic—took place in 1992—the year of its debut on Television—with Seasons 2 and 3 taking place in years 1993 and 1994 respectively. Because it says on the back of the season jacket cover that it is two years later, Batman: The Animated Series Season 4 takes place in 1996. As for Justice League Seasons 1 and 2, they take place in 1997 and 1998 respectively. For Justice League Unlimited Seasons 1 and 2, they take place in 1999 and 2000 respectively. The story itself that I am presenting here takes place in 2012. Also, if everything that happens in this chapter seems outlandish and you have no idea how they could have come about. Do not worry. I want it that way. Every other chapter will be a flashback—the date the flashback takes place will be the title of that chapter. The flashbacks will explain how everything that is going on in 2012 came to be. Also, as far for the order they will appear in, they will be going backwards chronologically. That means, I start with the first relevant event dating this closest to present day and move backwards. At some point, the flashbacks might end, but that won't be for awhile now. Please enjoy!

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Dedication- This fic is dedicated to all my wonderful fans—both of my Batman and Justice League fanfictions and to the fans of all the rest—as well as my two best friends, SlinkyAndTheBloodyWands and KimmiGray. Doing Nanowrimo with the two of you as writing buddies is great! Also—and sadly, I have to deem this one most important—this is dedicated to two guys I have never met but whose misheard conversation—misheard to mine own ears—inspired this crazy story. Thank you and much love to you all!

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Disclaimer- I do not own Batman or any other related character. They all belong to DC comics and WB. The quotes at the beginnings of these chapters will have proper credit with them. This will apply to all chapters.

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_Opportunity dances with those who are already on the dance floor._

--H. Jackson Brown Junior

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Chapter One—Happiness of a Life after Crime

She tapped her foot impatiently. Glancing at her watch, she sighed. Had it broken, or was he late? Again? He was usually always late. He owned several watches, and—she joked—had no idea how to use them. She dropped her plain-looking brown briefcase lightly down to the ground and allowed her left arm—the arm best used for watch watching—to fall limply to her side.

She felt of her blonde hair, making sure that it had not fallen out of its low, professional bun. A few wisps—pieces of hair shorter than the rest—had fallen forward to make her look quite harried. However—with the exception of her ride's lateness—she was quite the opposite. Her job was stressful, but never when she had test days. Teaching basic level college psychology—at a community college--was not exactly a demanding job. However, doing things like keeping up with lesson plans, making sure they were approved lesson plans, and doing other silly little teacher-like things were stressful. By all rights, she really did not need this job. However, she liked it…Liked to know that she was making a difference.

Test days were especially easy because the events of all her classes were pass out tests, give basic test-taking instructions, accept tests, offer to grade them right in front of the students, either do it or do not do it, and then wham bam, thank you ma'am. She was done. For test days, there was only one stressful event: choosing what she was going to eat for lunch.

Scratch that, two stressful things. Choosing what she was going to have for lunch and worrying that she was going to be stuck on the front of the school's God forsaken lawn for eternity. She hated it when her ride was late. The weather was cooling in Gotham, and the night was falling. In past times, the front lawn of East Gotham Community College would not have been the safest place to be at any time of the day, let alone nighttime. She cast her eyes upwards and thanked the first appearing stars that that was no longer the case.

Finally, she heard the sound of a car pulling up into the college's one-directional parking lot. It was a fine looking vehicle, a Bentley or some other such expensive looking car. It was a light brown, almost beige, in color, and it pulled to a stop in front of her. She gave a half-smile and approached the window—passenger side—nearest her. As the glass lowered, she bent and smiled at the dark haired driver. He was turned in his seat of rich, Corinthian leather, his right arm rested across the backs of the front two seats. His left hand rested on the steering wheel, and he smiled.

"What's a blue-eyed beauty like yourself doing out on a night like this all alone?" he asked.

She laughed. "And what's a handsome blue-eyed stranger like yourself doing out at this time?"

"Well, I am your Knight in Shining Armor. I saw you—a beautiful damsel in distress—and decided to rescue you."

"Really? Who says I need rescuing?"

"No one. Just a thought."

She laughed again.

"You know, my mother taught me never to talk to strangers," she said, reaching back for her briefcase.

"Aw, I am not going to do anything. So, what's wrong? Why are you stuck out here?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes—the half-smile still on her red-painted lips, "Waiting for my husband. He's late. Again."

"Ah," the stranger said, as if a great truth had been revealed to him. "Married, huh? Does he leave you standing by yourself often?"

"Unfortunately, yes, that's the case."

"Real deadbeat, huh?"

"Oh…I don't know. I guess he can be."

A little glimmer of some unknown emotion came into the driver's eyes as he replied, "Really? How so?"

"Well…" she drew out slowly. "He's a corporate business man. You know how they are."

"Rich men who lavish their wives?"

"Busy men who leave cold beds."

The stranger smiled at her a playful smile—one that hid massive amounts of laughter behind it. "Well, I can solve that."

"Really? How?"

"Well, I've got a few minutes of free time and an empty backseat here. You game?"

At this, the woman laughed loud and hard. Shaking her head, she said, "You ruined it, Bruce."

The driver—billionaire Bruce Wayne—laughed just as hard. Through his laughter, he asked, "Did I go too far again?"

"Kind of killed the romance," the woman laughed.

"Really? I thought the quickie in the backseat bit was pure gold, Harley," he said.

Doctor Harleen Quinzelle-Wayne grabbed her briefcase and got into the passenger seat of the car. She and her husband exchanged a kiss as she tossed the case into the backseat.

"The kids can move that when they get back there," she said off-handedly, staring back at it. Turning back to her husband, she added, "You _have_ gotten better. You manage to fight the sex jokes longer this time."

Bruce shrugged and said, "Onward to pick up the kids?"

"Yes."

Bruce pulled out of the drive—shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Harley surveyed her husbands black suit. Although the weather was getting colder, it was still too warm for such a heavy business suit. He pulled at the red tie, loosening it. Once it was properly undone, he turned to her with a smile.

"So, how was class?" he asked.

"Test day."

"So let me rephrase that. How was lunch?"

"Eh," Harley replied, making the so-so gesture with her hand.

Bruce laughed. She loved it when he laughed. It was so good that she could now barely remember the times when his laughter scared her. Of course, that had been long ago, when he had been a different man. When she had been a different woman.

Harley gave an involuntary shudder and rubbed her arms. When Bruce gave her a questioning glance, she replied, "Cold."

"Oh. Do you want the heater on?" he asked, reaching for the car's thermostat.

"No, no. I think the cold was from something else."

She was being deliberately vague. She was unwilling to share the complete reason for her chill. However, her husband had once been considered the world's greatest detective, and—as the saying went—old habits die hard.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" he asked, making a right turn onto Sycamore Street. Seven more blocks before the school that their two children attended, and were currently participating in the after-school tutoring program.

"It's nothing. Silly stuff. I just had a bad dream last night, that's all," she said, waving her hand superficially.

Bruce smiled. "A person who spent a great deal of her life studying Freud, and you are going to tell me that you think that dreams mean nothing. That a dream is just silly stuff? Isn't that a little hypocritical, Dr. Wayne?"

He was teasing her. He was trying to incite a playful game of verbal sparring. She would indulge him for a time. After all, it would—if only temporarily—distract him from asking about her dream. But only for a time, for nothing distracted Bruce Wayne from his target question for very long.

She gave her half-smile again and said, "Well, to quote Freud, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

Bruce shook his head. "He must have said that after being confronted with some crazy dream like—I don't know—having a conversation with someone about brain-eating amoebas or something."

Harley laughed. It was so great the random things he came up with. He always kept her on her toes. However, her laugher soon stopped as she saw that it was written all over Bruce's features that he was ready to discuss her dream. She sighed and shrugged.

"I can't even remember what exactly happened. It was just more of the feelings of the dream I remember. Fear, dread…those were the dominant ones. It just felt like—I don't know…"

"Felt like what, Harl?"

"Like something I've been trying to forget."

Instantly after she said it, she laughed. "Sounds like something out of a thriller film, doesn't it?"

He laughed and agreed with her. They were both still giggling when they pulled alongside the curb in front of their children's school. Their older child—Thomas James Wayne—stood there, holding his younger sister's—Pamela Martha Wayne—hand. He was saying something to her that their parents could not hear, but looked as if it could be some kind of warning or advice. When the car stopped, Bruce and Harley heard—through Bruce's rolled down window—Thomas say, "Okay, Lil' Pam, _now_ you can go. You have to be careful. You're little, and cars can't always see you."

He released his sister's hand as she huffed and climbed into the backseat behind Harley from the back door on Bruce's side. Thomas followed.

The children were elementary age and said all the cute things that elementary children did. Thomas was a mere eight-years-old—only in the third grade—and Lil' Pam (called "Lil' Pam" because it was easier to distinguish her from her namesake that way) was only six—a first grader. Both children had Bruce's dark hair. However, in facial features, Thomas had the square, serious features of her father, and Lil' Pam had the round, bouncy, and fun-seeking facial features of her mother. Both children had their parents' inescapable blue eyes.

Harley glanced behind to see Thomas—the dear boy always watching after his sister—trying to help buckle her in. Lil' Pam, however, was quite offended.

"_I_ can do it, Tom. I'm not stupid, you know," she said, snapping the belt with a quick, sharp _click_. "See? I did it without any help whatsoever."

Tom exhaled in a short snuff to show that he was agitated with his sister's sarcastic words. He crossed his arms—his seat belt already fastened—and turned his head to look out the window. Harley smiled.

"Everyone buckled in?" Bruce asked, smiling in the review mirror at them.

"Yes, Daddy," Lil' Pam said in her sweetest voice.

"Yes, Dad," Tom said, trying his best not to groan.

Tom loved his sister, protected his sister, and even got along with his sister. But even _he_, as any self-respecting eight-year-old boy, couldn't take too much of the sweet I-am-an-itty-bitty-princess routine that Lil' Pam, as a self-respecting six-year-old girl, put on with her father. She didn't even bother to try it with her mother, as Harley had once explained to her daughter that she had been six years old once upon time too…she knew all the tricks.

Bruce pulled the car out into traffic and made his way onto the highway that led to the suburbs and outskirts of Gotham City and Wayne Manor. Meanwhile, Lil' Pam decided to regale the family with stories of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy kicks sand in girl's face, girl cries, and boy gets in trouble. Tom then took up the narrative, saying that Lil' Pam had hit the little boy who had kicked sand at her and one of her best friends. When Bruce asked if this was true, Lil' Pam had teared up, glared at her brother, punched him in the arm, and then began to cry. As parents, it was rarely easy to keep a straight face.

Both parents reprimanded their daughter and asked their son if he was okay. He nodded, not speaking and rubbing his arm. Through the rear-view mirror Harley could see that the boy was fighting tears, trying not to let anyone know that his little sister had actually hurt him. Harley shook her head.

The Wayne children were tough, strong, and intelligent. They spoke with no hint of baby talk in their voice—unless confronted with a new word, but then they learned it quickly enough. Both parents often worried that it would cause problems for their children to have the strengths of both their parents. However, secretly, silently, and very much together, they were both more worried about them having inherited their parents' weaknesses.

"We're home!" Bruce declared, pulling up the long, curving drive until they could see the immense garage attached to the manor.

However, another car had beaten them home. It was not as fancy or expensive as the car that the Wayne family currently occupied, but it was a car that all of them knew. Seat belts in the backseat flew off as the two children threw themselves upon the back of their parents' seats.

"Uncle Tim!" they cried in unison, bouncing in place.

"Kids, what have I told you about unbuckling your seat belts before the car stops?" Bruce said, his voice warning.

However, they were not listening. As soon as the car had stopped—stopped, not turned off—both of them piled out. They charged the front door of the manor, almost pushing over Jervis as he had come out to greet them all. Both children shouted apologies to him. Harley and Bruce exited the car, shaking their heads.

"Sorry, Jervis," Harley said, approaching him. "We all know that they have better manners than that."

"They just get so excited when their Uncle Tim shows up," Bruce shrugged, coming up behind Harley.

"That's quite all right," Jervis said, flattening down his blond hair and returning to his respectful how-may-I-serve-you pose.

Jervis Tetch, once a brilliant scientist at WayneTech Labs only to turn to a life of deranged villainy due to a crush and an obsession with _Alice in Wonderland_. Now, through a mishap, he was the Wayne Family's loyal butler, taking over once Alfred had retired. As to how he went from villain to butler—to _trusted_ butler—was a very long story in itself. And one that Harley rarely liked to think on.

Jervis stepped aside to allow Bruce and Harley to enter before him. They did so and followed the delighted squeals of their children to the kitchen's dining room. There stood Tim Drake, playfully spinning Lil' Pam round and round while Tim's wife, Amelia, tried to bend down around her fruitful belly to give Tom a proper hug. Finally, Tom just wrapped her arms as far as he could around her stomach—gently.

Tim stopped spinning, setting Lil' Pam down, saying that he was quite dizzy. Harley laughed, that semi-smile on her face. Tim looked up, smiling warmly at her. Amelia also smiled her own odd little smile. Even though Harley never smiled fully anymore—with the exception of certain occasions—she still thought Amelia's smile was strange. There was just something about it. It was not fake, but rather…reserved. Stranger still was that once, some time ago, it had been Thomas who had pointed out to his mother what was so weird about Amelia's smile.

"It's her eyes," he had said. "You know, Mom, how eyes light up when you smile? Hers only light up halfway. Kind of like how your smile is always ever half. When Aunt Amelia smiles, it's like looking at a glass that is sitting in front of a sunny window that is only half full of water."

Tom had been right. Amelia always meant her smiles, especially when she smiled at her family; however, she just could never make the smile fill her eyes. They were restricted.

Lil' Pam was now tugging on Amelia's gray maternity shirt, wanting her attention. Amelia looked down—her straight, dark hair falling in front of her face (Harley remembered when she used to keep it cut up to her earlobes).

"Yes?" she asked.

Amelia's voice, however, was a different creature altogether from her smile. Her voice was bright, even musical. Even when she was sad, she could make you think of the brightest, flowery springtime afternoon.

"I learned how to braid hair from a girl in my class today, Aunt Amelia. Can I braid yours and Mommy's hair tonight?" Lil' Pam asked, hope and childish pleading in her eyes.

"Well!" Tim said in mock indignation, "What about _my_ hair? And after I spun you around…you don't even want to braid _my_ hair."

Lil' Pam looked at her uncle—or rather, at his short cut black hair—and laughed.

"Oh, Uncle Tim, you don't have enough. Besides, you're not a girl! Only girls get their hair braided!"

Tom and his sister began to laugh hysterically as Tim pretended to be wounded by this. The adults chuckled. Finally, Amelia looked back at Lil' Pam.

"I can't speak for your mother, but you can braid my—" at this, she stopped. Her voice had changed. He had gone from her bright, happy voice to a sad, monotone voice.

Harley glanced at Bruce, whose eyes looked sad. Tim put a hand on Amelia's shoulders, squeezing them gently as she shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. She cleared her throat—as if that had been the problem (everyone but the children knew the truth)—and continued, "But you can braid my hair."

Lil' Pam clapped her hands in joy—not one moment deterred by the pause her elders had made, for the adults in this household often paused solemnly. She then turned on her mother. Harley beat her to her answer.

"Yes, Lil' Pam, you can braid my hair too. Now take your brother upstairs, and the both of you get washed up for dinner," she said, ushering her children out of the dining room.

"Ha!" Lil' Pam said, "I get to take _you_ upstairs, Tom!"

"I know my way upstairs, Pam!" he said, the two racing each other out of the room.

"Careful on the stairs!" both their parents shouted simultaneously.

There was no reply but the sound of little footsteps pounding up the stairs. Tim laughed.

"I can't wait until this little one—" at this he indicated Amelia's belly, "is born. Hey, can we stay for dinner?"

"Of course," Harley said, sitting down at the dining table. "But first…I know you two had a doctor's appointment today. Do we know the sex of the baby?"

The other three sat around the table as well. Tim took Amelia's hand, and they both smiled.

"Well, we could know, but we want it to be a surprise," he said.

"But we are still discussing names," Amelia added as Tim nodded.

"Well, what have you got?" Bruce asked.

"Well, if it is a girl, we thought about Barbara—you know, after Barbara Gordon. And if it is a boy, well…we thought we would like to name him Bruce…if that's okay," Tim said, rather bashfully.

At this, Bruce's eyes widened. "Really? I would—well, I would be honored. Now I guess I am hoping for a boy, aren't I?"

The group laughed, and Harley stood. "This calls for a celebration. I will get Jervis to bring some wine for us, and some grape juice for Amelia."

Harley took a few steps towards the door on the other end of the dining room, the swinging door that led into the immense kitchen of Wayne manor.

"Jervis, can we get some wine and sparkling grape juice?" she asked.

"Of course, ma'am," Jervis replied. "Right away."

Harley came and reclaimed her seat. It was moments later when Jervis came out of the kitchen, balancing a sliver wine bucket—wine on ice inside—and a bottle of sparkling white grape juice on an equally as silver tray. Jervis always kept his hair parted and slicked down, and he always wore a black and white tuxedo with tails. His gloves were white and always amazingly clean. His shoes were shiny and black, and the same applied when discussing their cleanliness. The Wayne family had seen Jervis put out kitchen fires, walk through mud, and even carve fresh meat, and somehow, he always came out clean as a whistle.

Jervis placed the tray down on the table before the group. He removed the wine bottle from the ice bucket, and slowly removed the cork. Arranged around the bucket and the grape juice bottle were crystal glasses. He selected one, filled it with wine, and offered it to Harley first. He then did the same to Tim and then Bruce. He replaced the wine in the bucket and unscrewed the sparkling grape juice. He chose a glass and filled it for Amelia. She thanked him with a smile and her half-bright eyes.

"Will that be all?" Jervis asked.

"Yes, thank you," Bruce said.

"Very well, sir. Dinner will be ready in an hour," Jervis said with a curt bow.

The butler then turned on heel and departed back into the kitchen. Tim shook his head and turned to Harley.

"I know you don't like to think on it often, Harl, but was Tetch like that when he was a crazed villain? You know, all curt and proper, or was that Alfred's influence?" the former Boy Wonder asked.

This time, only Bruce and Amelia gave an uncomfortable pause. Everyone present knew that the past was a difficult subject to cover in this household. Bruce's eyes darted to Harley, wanting her not to be upset. Amelia, on the other hand, glared at Tim. It was as if she was willing him to read her thoughts, which were probably along the lines of "you should know better."

However, Harley gave her half-smile—Lil' Pam called it "Mommy's broken smile"—and said, "It think it's a mixture of both."

A silent sigh of relief emanated from Bruce and Amelia. Tim jumped in his seat and a slight yelp escaped his lips. It was no doubt that either Amelia or Bruce had stomped his foot under the table. It was at that moment that Thomas burst back into the room.

"Grampy Gordon is on television!" he announced, his tone clearly letting his elders know that he wished to be followed.

The four stood—Amelia a little slowly—and followed the young boy into the living room. Sure enough, there, on television, was Mayor James Gordon—the best mayor Gotham City had seen in a long time, according to the general public consensus. Harley had regained her practicing license about the time he began running for mayor and had been proud to vote for him. That had been one year after she had finally been able to seal away her past forever. As for life outside politics, James Gordon and Barbara were really close friends to the Wayne family. He was even Thomas's godfather, and—of course—the origin of the boy's middle name.

"Gordon is always on television, Tom," Tim said, sitting down in the chair behind where the boy was squatting on the floor.

Lil' Pam was sitting beside her brother, totally disinterested in what was going on on the television in front of her. Instead, she was playing with some of her toys. Of course, this was only because her namesake and godparent was not on it the screen. The roles were often reversed when Pamela was on.

"Sssh!" Tom said sharply. "Grampy is going to make an announcement!"

And indeed he was. Gordon was standing behind a podium perched on the stairs of City Hall. The Press was gathered all along the bottom steps, and Gordon was wearing an uncharacteristically sheepish look.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Gotham, in regards to the massive blackout that took place on Friday evening last week, I am pleased to say that very few crimes were reported, and no injuries whatsoever occurred," he said.

"I wonder if they found out what caused it," Bruce said pensively.

That was followed by another sharp "sssh" from Tom. He always really enjoyed it when Gordon was talking, whether he could understand it or not.

At the end of Gordon's last statement, a multitude of reporters' hands had shot up into the air. Gordon pointed one out and said, "Yes, you. What is your question?"

"Have you figured out the source of the blackout?" the unseen reporter asked.

At this, Gordon's face got a little red. Not the type of red that a face gets when it is angry, but the kind it gets when one is very embarrassed. At this, Harley and Bruce—who both felt they knew Gordon the best out of the four adults present—exchanged glances. Gordon, on screen, cleared his throat.

"Why, um, yes we have," he said.

"And?" the reporter said.

"It was…a squirrel."

At this, all noise seemed to cease. None of the photographers were even snapping pictures. It was just silence. It was as if the Press was trying to decide whether this was a joke or not. Finally, it seemed that someone just needed to know.

"What?" the very same reporter asked.

"A squirrel," Gordon repeated—and it looked like he had had to force himself to do so. "A squirrel got caught in one of the power boxes in Downtown Gotham. It—well—it caused a short that just kept shorting everything out."

Thomas was laughing, and it looked like the reporters were trying not to do the same thing. Gordon shook his head.

"Anyway, things have been sorted out. We have gotten the proper wires and such replaced. Next question."

At this, Jervis announced that dinner was ready. The television went off, and the family gathered back in the dining room. Harley helped the children into their seats, while Tim helped Amelia into hers. Once everyone was seated, they were silent for a moment—some semblance of saying grace for this family (the food was already out on the table). Finally, Bruce began carving the succulent pork roast that Jervis had prepared—Alfred had taught this butler how to cook. Once Bruce had carved and laid some pork roast on Harley's, Lil' Pam's, Thomas's, and Amelia's plates, Jervis gave a slight bow before him and said, "Allow me, sir."

Bruce passed off the carving knife, and Jervis served Tim and him their slices of roast. Jervis then continued to serve the family the potatoes and other vegetables that had been prepared with the meal. Finally, the butler gave another curt bow and exited the room.

It was silent for a moment as Harley sliced Lil' Pam's pork into smaller pieces, and Bruce did the same for Thomas. Then, as the family began to eat, a sort of babble of conversation arose. It began with Amelia sharing a funny joke her doctor had told her and ended up being about where everyone was during the blackout.

"I was at home," Lil' Pam announced. "It was so scary! It was darker than usual inside and outside. I was scared, and I wanted to go find Mommy and Daddy, but I was afraid I would get lost in the house!"

There was a titter of laughter at this, as the family was not really sure if Lil' Pam had meant for her words to be taken humorously. They did not want to offend her; there was nothing worse than offending a six-year-old. However, she smiled appreciatively, and so the stories continued.

"It was sort of scary," Thomas put in. "I was at home too, but I thought I needed to be brave and not make a big fuss over the dark."

"Oh, Thomas! You came running into my room!" Lil' Pam said, outraged.

"I thought you needed to be comforted," Thomas defended while the others fought laughter.

"We were coming home from the doctor's. People in the city were rather calm about the blackout; Gordon was right about that. Quite a difference from the old days, huh, Bruce?" Tim said.

Bruce nodded once, solemnly. His children looked from him to their Uncle Tim, but neither man wore any sort of expression as to give away any sort of secret. The children sighed.

"We were at home, in bed. We didn't even know there was a blackout until the next morning. We'd been asleep," Harley said.

"Apparently some people panicked, though," Amelia said. "I mean, James had to make an announcement about it."

"Very true," Bruce admitted, now slipping into deep thought. "Why would he do that if there were no serious things to report?"

"Maybe the city pressured him into doing so," Harley offered.

"That makes sense to me," Tim said.

At that moment, Jervis entered, carrying a telephone on his silver tray. He set the tray down as near to the center of the dining table as he could—the roast was in the actual center. He pressed a button on the base unit of the phone and announced, "Alfred Pennyworth on the phone for the family."

At this, Jervis dutifully took a step back. All at once, everyone began to speak to their favorite retired butler. Alfred laughed at the din of noise and said, "I can't understand you!"

All the adults went quiet and the two children called, "Hi, Uncle Alfred!"

Harley often found it funny that Thomas and Lil' Pam called Alfred "uncle," but called Gordon "grampy." It was strange the associations children made.

"Hello, Alfred," she said, her chin resting on her raised folded hands.

"Harleen, hello, madam," he said warmly.

Harley always liked Alfred. At a time in her life when no one wanted to accept her as an important part of Bruce's—let alone Batman's—life, he alone made her feel welcome. When everyone still saw her as "Harley Quinn," _his_ accomplice and ex-lover—she hated to even _think_ his name now--Alfred Pennyworth was the only one who saw her as she really was, human and vulnerable.

"How is Florida, Alfred?" Bruce asked, smiling at the telephone as if could see his old friend, butler, and confidant. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, yes, quite so. The weather is a bit warm for my tastes, but the scenery is beautiful. Is it only the four of you there?"

"No, Alfred. Amelia and I are here as well," Tim put forth.

"Ah, young master Tim. A pleasure to hear from you as well."

Tim and Bruce both shook their heads.

"You're retired, Alfred. You can stop with whole master/servant thing. Like you were ever _just_ our servant anyway," Tim said.

Alfred laughed again. "Of course. Old habits die hard, they say."

Harley's half-smile faltered for a moment. As if he could see it, Alfred quickly amended his statement.

"But it is not like I believe every old saying that comes my way. I am trying to break that habit," he said.

"Thank you," Harley mouthed, hopefully out of sight of the others.

As Jervis was coming around and collecting everyone's empty dishes, they all spoke with Alfred of things going on both in Gotham and on the sunny beaches of Florida. Finally, Lil' Pam broke in.

"Are we getting any presents?" she asked, probably not as cute and bashfully as she had intended.

Thomas—ever the little observer—often pointed out that Lil' Pam was not as cute and innocent as she would have everyone believe. Harley had chalked up that statement to sibling rivalry. However, there were little instances—like this one—where she could fully believe that view on her daughter. Overall, Lil' Pam was a good child, but one just sometimes got the feeling that she knew more of what was going on around her than most six-year-olds did. Alfred laughed again.

"As a matter of fact, I have seen one or two things that have reminded me of both you and Thomas, Little Pamela. You will be receiving them in the mail soon, I believe," he said.

Both children let out squeals of delight. They loved gifts, but they loved them even more when they came from Uncle Alfred. Of course, Thomas tried to pretend that he had not squealed as loud or as excitedly as his little sister. He quickly cleared his throat and smiled appropriately. Tim—one of many who had noticed this—was trying not to spew his drink and turned to Amelia, saying that he hoped their child had the combined personalities of Tom and Lil' Pam. Both children beamed proudly at this, and Amelia laughed.

"Are you trying to get our house burned down?" she asked.

Both children scowled perfectly on cue. Bruce laughed.

"Well, Bruce, I'll be getting on now. Call me when the children receive their gifts. I believe I have included my new mobile number in the letter. A good evening to you all," Alfred said.

"Good evening," the group intoned, and there was a _click_ on the other end of the phone.

Before Harley could even motion to Jervis to come and take the phone away, it rang again. The adults, a little stunned at the quickness of receiving another telephone call so soon after the last, did not think to move to answer it. However, both Thomas and Lil' Pam moved into action. It was almost as if in slow motion as everyone watched both Tom and Lil' Pam dive across the table. Then, innocent little Pam's hand ever so slightly came out from her side—pushing her palm against her brother's arm. The contest was quickly decided as Lil' Pam reached the phone first, and Thomas went sliding a little way across the table's top into his father's side.

"Pamela Martha!" Harley scolded as her daughter pressed the phone's receiver to her little ear.

"Sssh, I'm on the phone," Lil' Pam said sweetly. After a moment and a couple of "uh-huhs," she passed the phone to her mother, saying, "It is for you, Mommy. It is Big Pam."

"Big Pam" was what Lil' Pam's namesake—Harley's old friend, the former Poison Ivy—preferred the little one to call her. She did not want to be called "aunt" or "grammy." She said that that would have made her feel just a little bit too old. So, she said that Lil' Pam was to either call her "Big Pam" or just Pamela or Pam. Harley took the phone.

"I'm not done with the issue of you shoving your brother into your father, young lady," she said, giving her daughter a stern look. Then, she added, turning her attention to the phone, "Red? How are you?"

"Busy as hell, Harl," Pam replied, sighing. "I tried to reach you at work, but I only got your voicemail. You must have already left."

"Is there anything wrong?" Harley asked, concerned.

Bruce leaned forward, his brow furrowed in worry. However, as Harley heard Pam's replied, she half-smiled and shook her head.

"Nothing's wrong. I just need some girl time and a stiff drink. Want to do lunch tomorrow?"

"I don't know about that drink, Red—I do work before and after lunch—but I will go for that lunch. Where at?"

"Trowbridges, at noon sharp," Pam said happily. "See you then?"

"It's a date," Harley said. "Bye."

She replaced the phone atop the base, signaled for Jervis to take the phone away—which he did so, bustling back into the kitchen quickly—and smiled at her husband.

"Honey, I think I'll take the Bentley tomorrow to work."

* * *

End Notes: Okay, I hope that this chapter is not too rambling. I wrote this for Nanowrimo—that is 50,000 words in 30 days—so this is going to be long. The version you will get will be edited so that it is content orientated and not just word count oriented. However, I only got to finish three chapters of this before I had to stop doing Nanowrimo this year. I can't promise all the chapters to be this length, but I can promise that this will be a long story. Now, I hope that this chapter left everyone with a short of "what the hell is going on?" feeling. That's what I want to see. You get your first flashback in the next chapter. Also, the whole squirrel in the electrical box thing…that really happened, to some extent. It did not cause a blackout, but it did burn down a courthouse and almost burned down an adjoining jail. Seeing as no one but the squirrel died, it was a pretty funny story to read in my local newspaper. Also, I got the name "Trowbridges" from an actual diner around where I live. Anyway, hope everyone likes this chapter.


	2. November 27, 2006

Author's Note—This chapter we get our first little flashback. Now, I can't promise that the flashbacks will be as long as the regular chapters, but I can promise that it is through them that the answers about the characters' current lives will be revealed. Now, as a reminder, the titles of the chapters will be the date in which the event of the flashback takes place. Also, they will go backwards, chronologically. I would really like to thank everyone for their reviews. They were great! Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter.

* * *

_Those that are most slow in making a promise are the most faithful in the performance of it._

--Jean Jacques Rousseau

* * *

Chapter Two—November 27, 2006

Harley was pissed. And not only was she pissed, she was pissed and in extreme pain. And further more, she was pissed, in extreme pain, and trying _not_ to show that she was pissed and in extreme pain. She was in labor, refusing drugs because Pamela—ex-eco-terrorist, ex-Arkham Asylum inmate, ex-occasional partner in crime with Harley, and current rising star in the field of plant/animal splicing—did not believe in such things. Honestly, it must have been one of the very few times in history when she wished her dear friend would just go the hell away.

It had been hours, and Harley had only dilated five centimeters. When the doctor had made this announcement, Pam had brightly said, "Halfway done, Harl!" To this, Harley was not exactly clear on what had escaped her lips, although she was about ninety-five percent sure it was some sort of foul swear word. The doctor had smiled sadly and left, saying nothing. Pamela had simply gone silent. Thank God she understood that Harley had not meant it.

Outside, Harley knew that Pamela's new husband sat playing with two-year-old Thomas, trying his best to make the little boy not wonder what was going on with his mother. Pamela, meanwhile, was steadfast at her friend's side. Harley hoped that Pam knew she was grateful. Surely she did. Of course, if she kept shouting expletives at her, she might begin to question. However, none of this was why Harley was pissed, nor was it any real reason to be pissed.

No, the reason she was pissed was due to the fact that a very important person—in relation to this glorious event—_was not there_. Bruce Wayne was apparently too busy to be bothered with the birth of his second child. No, surely there was something more important than _that_ in this cruddy universe. Harley just kept thinking of nasty little things to say to her husband, father of her children.

Pamela—worry etched all over her pretty face—walked over to the television that was suspended in the upper left corner of the room. Reaching up, her hand hovered over the power switch.

"Some television while we wait on our guest of honor?" she asked.

Whether she meant Bruce, Batman, or the newest addition to the Wayne family, Harley did not know. She merely grunted her assent. Pam smiled and hit the button.

The television was set on a cartoon channel. The figure of a bubbly pink cat was on screen, talking to an equally bubbly purple cat. The pink cat giggled.

"Say, Meowen, why don't we go see what Mr. Barkums is up to?" leaked out a voice familiar to very few. However, Harley and Pam knew it.

"Is that--?" Pam began.

"It sounds like it," Harley continued.

They waited for the pink cat to speak another line. When she did, both women gasped.

"That's Baby Doll!" Pamela exclaimed.

"Mary Louise Dahl," Harley corrected, soberly.

She had been taught during her rehabilitation to refer to the criminals of Arkham—and elsewhere—by their real names, not their aliases. However, she moved on quickly. "What's she doing on a cartoon?"

Pam looked thoughtfully at the screen. "I had heard that she was up and coming in the voice acting business, but I'd never thought much about it. I'd also heard that this was a popular show, but I didn't know that she was on it."

At that point in time, Harley was hit by a contraction. As it was ending, she grunted—or rather, growled, "Turn it off!"

Pam hopped up and did so immediately. She returned to Harley's side, smiling.

"I think that your contractions are getting closer together. I don't think it'll be long. Do you want me to go get the doctor?" she asked.

Harley nodded. An hour or so later, Harley's doctor placed into her arms a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Thomas had been allowed to visit briefly with his new sister, trying his best to make head or tails of what he was supposed to do with the infant girl. When he asked as much, Harley had replied, "You play with her, love her, cherish her, and above all, protect her."

Thomas—of whom Harley always thought was scarily intelligent for a two-year-old—seemed to be put deep into thought at this. Pamela took the boy by the shoulders, lightly leading him out of the room. Over her shoulder, she said, "I'll take him home. He can stay the night with us tonight. Oh, and give his father hell from me, okay?"

"I'm sure he's going to get enough from me," Harley replied.

Pamela laughed and left. Harley had not found her statement in the least bit funny. A nurse came shortly after that, saying that she could take Harley's daughter to the nursery if she wanted to sleep. She consented and waved at her little one as she was wheeled out of the room. Picking up the remote, Harley switched the television to a news channel.

Anchorwoman Summer Gleeson was seated comfortably behind her large blue desk. Behind her, a smaller screen projected the headline "Robbery at Fifth and Seventh Avenue Gas Station." Summer, meanwhile, was wrapping up the story.

"And Batman was seen conversing with Detective Harvey Bullock as other officers carried the crooks away. Now on to weather. Steve, what's it going to be like this winter?"

Harley stopped listening. A gas station robbery? That was what had demanded the great Batman's attention away from the birth of his daughter? Oh, the things she was going to say! However, it was to be two hours past midnight until she got to say any of those things to him.

She had been unable to sleep and had asked the night nurse—if she could—to wheel her daughter back in to her. The nurse had complied, and now the little infant was sleeping peacefully under her mother's watchful eye. A slight breeze later and Harley knew that her husband had finally arrived.

"I am so sorry," he began, using what Harley called his "Dark Avenger Voice."

"Don't. Do not even _begin_ to apologize to me," she hissed.

He stepped into the sparse light of the room. He was still fully covered in cape and cowl, which would have made his sorrowful expression quite funny had the circumstances been different. Harley gave him her best glare, which was hard considering how exhausted she was.

"Harleen, you don't understand…the thug was armed…" he said, almost pitifully searching for an excuse good enough to cover his absence.

"That tends to be why they call them 'armed robberies.' Besides, the cops could have handled it. It's not like you were facing off with Poison Ivy, Two-Face, or the Jo—" she stopped herself, loathed to mention _that_ name in the presence of her child, even if the infant was not aware of what was going on around her.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again," he said. Then—either trying to change subject, genuinely curious, or both—he leaned over Harley to look at the sleeping girl. "Is this her?"

"No, it's a loaner for sleepless mothers. Of course it's her, you dimwit," she snapped.

Batman looked hurt for a moment, but seemed to reconsider calling _his_ feelings into the matter at the moment. Instead, he walked around to the side of the bed that his child was on. Bending over her, he murmured, "She's beautiful."

"Of course, you would have known that already if you had been here when Pamela—oh yes, I named her after Pam, the only person who was here with me during the delivery—was born. Instead, you were out taking care of a mediocre crime that could have easily have been handled without you. Is your life with us so boring?"

Batman looked up, a deep sadness in his eyes. "How could you ask me that?"

"Well, given the circumstances…"

"But you're right…by the way, I think Pamela is very suiting for her—" he said, indicating his daughter. Then, he added, "Where's Tom?"

"He's with Pam and Matt tonight, since his father wasn't here. But going on about how right I was?"

He sighed. "I should've been here. The cops could have handled it. It was just—every time I hear of someone dying on the news, I just can't help but think about how I could have prevented it."

Now it was Harley's turn to sigh. "You can't save them all. Besides, no one can deny the fact that Batman has helped drastically lower the death count in this city. But—"

"But?" he asked.

"I think…it's time to have Batman retire."

Silence in the room, all except for little Pamela's yawn. Finally, Batman said, "All right. I promise you."

"No," Harley said.

"No?"

"No, that's not good enough."

"Then—" he said, stumbling over this rather shocking statement from his wife. "Then I promise it to the children."

"Still not good enough. How do you think Lil' Pam is going to feel when she gets old enough to understand that her father missed her birth? That he was there when her older brother was born, but not her? She's going to feel like she wasn't important enough. So…make the promise to her. Not to me, not to Thomas, not to anyone else but her. Promise Pamela…promise your daughter that you're through with being Batman."

Batman considered this for a moment, staring pensively down upon his daughter's sleeping face. He seemed to be studying her appearance—her crinkled, pink sleeping face with her little fists curled up in balls. She was no bigger than the size of his hand. Looking up at Harley, who was looking at him with watery eyes, he smiled. Reaching up, he pulled off the cowl. He looked back down at Pamela.

"I promise you, Pamela. Tonight was the last night. I promise you, Pamela—" at this, he paused. Turning to his wife, he asked, "What's her middle name?"

Harley smiled in mock annoyance. Then she softened her expression, to reinforce the fact that she was joking. "Martha," she said. "After your mother."

Batman's—no, Bruce's—hair was tousled from spending the evening underneath the cowl. He smiled, his own blue eyes bright. Looking back at Lil' Pam, he finished his vow.

"I promise you, Pamela Martha Wayne. Tonight was the last night Batman roamed the city."

* * *

End Notes: Okay, so end first flashback. What did everyone think? I hope it was both funny—I always thought angry Harley was somewhat amusing—and sweet all at the same time. I also hope it answered a question or two…as well as left you with a few more. Please enjoy!


	3. Sounds of the Past

Author's Note—I'm back with a new chapter. Now, this one takes place back in 2012--you know, present day. And I've broken the rule I've tried to place upon myself for this story. I was trying to write a chapter ahead of each post. I'm not even halfway through chapter four yet, but hopefully, you'll all forgive me. Also, about the Lil' Pam comment in one of my reviews, it's actually quite common for someone to be called by a nickname like that all the time. As I must mention her at least twice a fanfic, SlinkyAndTheBloodyWands' real name is no where close to what I call her 95 percent of the time. I always call her Slinky…that's how she chose part of her penname. I'm not the only one who does it either. I'll grant you that "Lil' Pam" would be hard to roll off the tongue every time, but it's not improbable. Oh, and I'm not picking on you, I'm just explaining why I chose to do this. So please don't be angry! I hope you all will enjoy this next one.

* * *

_FEAR in an acronym in the English language for "False Evidence Appearing Real."_

--Neale Donald Walsch

* * *

Chapter Three—Sounds of the Past

Getting Thomas and Lil' Pam to school that morning had been a hassle. Both had had projects due in today, and both projects had been big—really big. Thomas had built a rather well done guillotine—"with real chopping action!" he had advertised to his parents as he sliced a cucumber in half—and Lil' Pam had drawn a rather nice picture of a knight, a unicorn, and a princess—on jumbo size poster board. Lil' Pam had cried when she thought that the picture had gotten a crease in it, and she had had an absolute fit when Thomas had taken off a small corner of her picture—less than an inch—with his guillotine.

After many tears, screams, kisses goodbye to their father, Harley finally got them to school. Her last words to Bruce had been, "It's your turn tomorrow."

After that came work. It was _not_ a test day. Instead, it was the worst day ever. The day after a test day. This was the day when she had to justify—as if every one of her students suddenly had a doctorate—what grade she had given them. And some were just adamant that it was her mistake that they had failed, and not theirs. Finally, blessedly, noon approached.

Harley had to park two blocks away from Trowbridges because of all the lunch time traffic, and walking across the streets to get to the little café was like taking your life into your hands. Finally, she arrived to find Pam already seated in the outside patio section. Harley climbed into the high, black wrought iron chair across the small table of the same color and make from Pam. Pam smiled.

"Hard day at work?" she asked.

"Yes. It was the day after a test day," Harley replied.

"Yikes."

Pam and Harley laughed. Both woman had their hair pulled back, but Harley's was in a simple ponytail and Pam's vibrant red hair was in a very tight bun. Harley was dressed in simple black slacks with a red top, where Pam looked very business like, which fit. The pastel green woman's business suit fit the former con's current position at the head of a multi-billion dollar gene-splicing corporation.

Pamela had long ago experimented with gene-splicing plant and animal genes, to her own devious ends. Eventually, she realized that her work could have so much more meaning. Now, she had cured diseases and prolonged the life expectancy for both plants and humans by at least ten to twenty more years. Her latest project was splicing plants with animals for beauty purposes.

"So, was there something wrong?" Harley asked as she placed her order with the passing waitress.

"No, absolutely nothing. In fact, nothing could be more right! It was a success!" Pam shouted, only lowering her voice when she had gotten to her last sentence.

"What was?" Harley asked.

Both women leaned forward so that they could whisper and still hear one another.

"The gene-splicing plants with animals for the purposes of creating like new hair colors or such. It worked!"

"Really? How? What happened?" Harley asked, images of herself with hair as red as a rose flitting through her mind.

"Well, we were experimenting on rats on changing their fur colors. We used lavender, and it worked! We now have a litter of rats with light purple fur growing in!"

Both laughed, long and hard. Of course, Harley was sure her reason for laughing was quite different from Pam's. Pam was laughing, no doubt, because of the joy of her success. Harley, on the other hand, was laughing at the most absurd idea of purple colored rats. Once they were finished, they both took a moment to catch their breath. Finally, Harley picked the conversation back up.

"Well, that's great, but when will it hit the market?" she asked.

All in all, Harley cared nothing for the workings of a business or major corporation. However, seeing as her husband was the head of Gotham's biggest corporation that did not mean she did not know anything about the hows and whys of business. Even back in her criminal days, she had been given a taste of what it was like to run a business. Of course, that was business of an altogether different sort.

"Well, we still have to test it on a few more rats, and then the higher ups have to approve human subject tests. You know, once it has been made certain that I am not going to turn people into half-plant, half-duck people or something. If the human testing goes well, then I would figure about a year or so before it's on the market. So, we have some time to wait before my company's beauty line is launched," Pam explained.

The waitress came and put a cheese sandwich down in front of Harley and a salad in front of Pam. They thanked her, and, as the young woman walked away, they both began to dig in. A little ways into their meal, Harley wiped her mouth and asked, "So, how's Matt's spa going?"

"It is going great. We are thinking about having our sixth anniversary there. You know, I opened it for him for a wedding gift, just before Lil' Pam was born, and it would just be so romantic to close it down and have it only cater to us. Don't you think so?" Pam said excitedly.

Harley gave her half smile to her old friend. It was nice to see that Pam had finally found happiness, like she herself had. They had both had it so rough; Pam would argue that Harley had it rougher than she did. Out of modesty, Harley would say that they both had it equally as hard…but she knew Pam was right. At least neither Pamela Lillian Isley nor Poison Ivy had ever let herself become subjected to someone as cruel and as sick as…her ex. At least neither Pamela Lillian Isley nor Poison Ivy had ever endured the torturous abuse from _him_ or any other man. But Pam had always been much too…independent to suffer abuse. Thinking back, Harley was sure that it was this fierce independence that had first drawn her into her friendship with the plant-crazed woman.

"Oh! Let me tell you what happened the other day at the spa!" Pam exclaimed, cutting suddenly into Harley's thoughts. "It probably wasn't as funny as I find it, but seeing as nothing horrible came of it, it's pretty damned hilarious."

Harley turned her eyes to Pam as the botanist began describing the incident. Apparently, whoever was in charge of filling the mudrooms of the spa—called _Serenidad Verde_ ("Green Serenity" in Spanish)—apparently misread Matt's order form. Instead of the proper amount of mud brought in to fill the tub, an oversized order came in and filled not only the tub, but also the floor—stopping up the door.

"Well," said Pam, "you know Matt's issue with mud. Freaks him out. Well, it turns out that his employees don't know this. He goes up and down the spa, screaming at the top of lungs for someone to clean it up. That he's not going to go in there. People were freaking out. The guests thought that the place was on fire or something. By the end of it all, there are half naked people gathered around the front of the building while janitors are cleaning up very expensive mud. Matt, meanwhile, is trying to collect himself and apologize to the customers. The guests are second-guessing whether they want to go back into the building or not. Finally, Matt has to give everyone there a free day pass to the spa in exchange for his frightening everybody. The rest of the day ran smoothly."

Harley cracked up, tears streaming down her face. It took the pair a long time to finish their lunch. Every so often, the image of overflowing mineral mud and Matt yelling would come into their minds, and the laughter would start all over again. Finally, Harley finished her lunch and ordered a small coffee. She was quiet as she waited for it to arrive, causing Pam to lift an eyebrow.

"You were so happy and talkative a minute ago. What's wrong, Harl? You seem kind of off all of a sudden," she asked.

"It's nothing. It's just that I've had this…bad feeling looming over me lately. Like…I don't know what it's like," Harley sighed.

"When did it start, this bad feeling?"

"About the time of the blackout, actually."

Pam laughed. "Well, you're just afraid of the dark, then."

Harley did not even try to grace her with her broken smile. She simply stared down at the table.

The waitress returned with Harley's coffee and her check. Harley thanked her, then stared blankly down into her cup.

"Is everything all right with you and Bruce?" Pam asked, a hand shooting out half the distance between them, ready to comfort her friend if she needed it.

"Yes, everything is fine with us and with the kids. I couldn't be happier. That's just what I don't understand. It's like…like I know that something is going to happen. That something is going to come along and ruin it all for me. Like before."

At this, a grave understanding passed over Pam's face. She retracted her hand and folded it with the other in front of her. She leaned back in her chair, surveying her sullen friend. Finally, she spoke.

"Are you going to visit the cemetery today?" she asked.

Harley could not meet her eyes. Pam sighed.

"You shouldn't visit there so often. I mean, I understand why you visit, sort of. Just…why so much? One of those graves you frequent you never even knew the bones that rot beneath it! This isn't healthy for you, Harley!"

Harley brought her sad blue eyes up to meet Pam's green ones. Pam gave a defeated sigh.

"You're going to visit anyway, aren't you?"

Harley nodded.

"I knew it. Take off. I'll cover your check. Don't protest—" Pam said, as Harley began to do just that, "It's not like we both don't have the money. You can just pay for lunch next time. Go on, Harl. Just…make sure to make it back to work on time. Bruce mentioned that they're thinking of offering you tenure. You need to make a good impression."

Harley stood, grabbing her purse. She graced Pam with her half smile and said, "Yes, mother."

With a bouncy wave that did not do her gloomy mood justice, she raced back to her car. It was at least a fifteen to twenty minute drive from Trowbridges to Gotham Cemetery. It was going to be even longer than that with the after lunch traffic. So, to pass the time, Harley popped in a CD into the car's player. As she was trying—and failing—to hit the high notes on the CD's thirteenth song, she pulled into Gotham Cemetery. She parked alongside the road closest to the graves she was visiting.

She climbed out, checked her watch, but just as she reached the two graves of her destination, a voice called out to her.

"Harley? Dr. Quinzelle-Wayne? Is that you?" called a woman from a few yards over.

Harley stopped short of her destination with a mental groan. The woman—about Harley's age, dark caramel-colored skin, and dyed, bobbed-short honey blonde hair—was approaching her fast. She was dressed in a knee-length, professional, gray knit dress with a high neckline and a black, light sweater over it. She held a very small bouquet of flowers in her hands.

"It is you," she said, once she was close enough to Harley to extend a hand (which she did). "Good afternoon, Miss—I'm sorry; old habit—Doctor Quinzelle. How are you?"

Harley took her hand and stopped her handshake short. Muttering, as politely as she could manage, "Dr. Dawson."

Dr. Meredith Dawson had been brought in during Harley's last days in Arkham. Most of the inmates had all but disregarded her, marking her as another "come-and-go" intern. Her true purpose had been hidden from them. Doctor Dawson had had a dual reason for coming to Arkham. The first had been to replace Doctor Joan Leland, who had decided to take an early retirement. But the second reason…had been much less kind.

"I'm fine," Harley answered finally, realizing that she had not before. "Can't complain. Just here…visiting."

Harley smiled and hoped it did not look as forced as it really was. With a breath, she added, "May I ask who you are visiting?"

"My father," Dawson replied, indicating a grave back somewhere near her starting point.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Harley barely even glanced downward. She had never liked Meredith Dawson. It was true enough that she was good—even excellent—at her job, but she lacked a certain something. A warmth that only Leland had had even with Arkham's most demented of patients. Dawson was cold with them, from what Harley could remember. Disregarding everything about them that she deemed "unnecessary to deal with." Harley was glad that Leland had still agreed to work with her towards her rehabilitation rather than pass her case on to Dawson. Harley was sure that even with the help her husband had provided in bringing her back to sanity, it would have taken twice as long with Meredith as her psychiatrist. Of course, psychiatry was not the only medical profession Dawson studied.

"Well, it was lovely to see you again. It's so nice to see a successful case in the flesh. I take it that your family is well?" Dawson asked, interrupting Harley's thoughts.

"Yes. Fine. Thank you."

It was a hard struggle to keep the cold, uncaring out of her voice. Especially when all Harley wanted her to do was just leave. Dawson got the message.

"Well, I must be getting back to work. Like I said, so very nice to see you again. Good-bye," she said, ascending the sloping lawns to the little road that ran through the cemetery.

Harley did not even glance behind her as she muttered some pleasantry. Instead, she continued her descent of the lawn to the where the two graves she had come to visit stood among rows of others. The first grave—the larger of the two—was much older than the second. It was true what Pam had said at lunch. Harley had never even met the woman who lay in the ground beneath the psychology teacher's feet, but she had known of her. Harley had felt connected to this woman. Sadly, she noticed that a single weed had made its way up out of the center of the ground in front of the grave. Harley bent and pulled it out of the earth. Tossing it aside, she moved to the second grave.

She should have brought flowers. She always forgot flowers. Of course, Harley visited this place so often that all of the roses she could bring would probably have piled up higher than the little grave. This grave, Harley knew, was little more than a marker, a memorial. But she had insisted upon having it. Bruce had made sure that she got what she had wanted. She believed that her love for him had truly begun at that moment, so long ago.

Harley put her hand out, dragging it along the top of the little stone marker. She gave her half-smile toward the grave, and said, "I came to visit you, Penelope, but now I have to go. I will come and visit again, promise."

With this short visit under her belt, Harley trekked back up the hill to her car. She climbed in, started the vehicle up, and began to drive away when she heard the most curious noise.

It was small at first, but naggingly familiar. It grew a little, and Harley still could not place it. It was so odd, but she felt as if this sound was one that she should be very familiar with. It grew a bit more in volume, and suddenly…Harley knew it. She slammed on her breaks—causing them to make a loud squeal, barely noting that she had made it only a few feet away from the graves.

"AH HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEH-HEH-HEH-HEEHEEHEEHEE! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

She freaked out. There was no other way to describe her panic. That sound could not be here. Not here, not in her car. Not so loudly. He was not there. He could not be there. He was taken care of.

As if to reassure herself of this, Harley began to frantically look about her car. Once she was sure _he_ was not the source of the laughter—the mocking, horrific laughter—she began to tear apart items in her car, looking for the source with the same frantic tension. Harley had torn apart papers, lifted up car rugs, thrown about items, and even tore into some of the car's seat cushions before she realized the source of the laughter.

Her hair falling out from its ponytail, her light jacket sliding slightly off her shoulders, and breathing heavily, Harley reached a shaking hand forward and hit the "eject" button on the CD player. The laughter ceased, and the CD slid out. She took it into her hand, holding it between her index finger and thumb. She did not recognize the copied CD, and that was saying something. Harley knew every CD kept in this car. Shaking further still, she wasted no time in her next action.

She rolled down the window of her car, flung the CD as far as she could, and drove off at speeds that were unsafe for most human beings.

* * *

End Notes: Okay, a few hints popped up in this chapter. We all know what was on the CD, right? Anyway, if you didn't figure it out, it will all be revealed in due time anyway. As for the whole "Pam's husband" thing, it will also be revealed in due time. Can any of you guess who he is? Oh, and a note, I got the name Penelope from Slinky (see author's note). That what her parents had originally intended to name her. Please enjoy!

Chapters 1-3 edited Dec. 6, 2008


	4. July 4, 2006

Author's Note: I am so glad everyone enjoyed that last chapter. Now, this one is another flashback. I hope these flashbacks don't become too confusing for anybody. Please enjoy!

* * *

_After all these years, I see that I was mistaken about Eve in the beginning; it is better to live outside the Garden with her than inside it without her._

--From _Adam, in Adam's Diary_ by Mark Twain

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Chapter Four—July 4, 2006

Independence Day

It was a beautiful, sunny morning. The flowers of the summer season were still in full bloom, and they filled Puckett Park from corner to corner with their lovely scents. Roses swayed in the warm breeze, and their pollen mixed with the pollens of untold how many other plants. It was a lovely day to take a walk in the park and await the fireworks that would be shot into the sky over it, reflecting off of the petals and leaves of the plants later that night to mark the holiday. And Pamela Lillian Isley was sure many people would have loved to appreciate the beauty of nature within that park that day…had she not rented the whole place for her wedding ceremony and reception for the entire day and night.

Pam watched through a tiny peephole in her tent as a young couple passed outside the gates of the park and curiously craned their necks to watch the decorations being erected inside. Of course, there were only a few decorations being put up. Pam had wanted nature's beauty to decorate her wedding, not any artificial plastic or such. An arch was being put up at the very moment Pam was observing the curious young spectators in the northern part of the park where roses, lilies, and sunflowers ran rampant. Of course, Pam had added a few flowers last month and "encouraged" them to grow.

In the southern part of the park is where the reception tables and chairs were being put together. It was her understanding that her wedding cake was to be delivered any minute and be set up there. As for where Pam was getting ready to be married, she was located in the far eastern section of the park in a white tent. Matt was at the other end of Puckett Park in a tent of similar design.

Pamela had just slipped into her wedding dress as a dull thumping—the best a knock could get on a tent made of plastic—called her attention to the entrance flap.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Your Matron of Honor!" Harley squealed in delight through the tent.

Pamela laughed. "Come in, Harl."

Harley Wayne ducked inside under the tent. Pam was sure that she would never fully be able to get used to thinking of her ex-partner in crime as boy billionaire Bruce Wayne's wife, but all the proof she needed was right there in front of her. Harley was beaming at her friend, practically glowing. Of course, that might have been that pregnant glow that people always talk about coming from women. Harley was five months along with her second child, so her stomach had a quite noticeable bulge underneath her lavender-colored dress. Her blonde hair was braided and was encircling her head, and she was currently carrying two sets of bouquets—her own mini-bouquet and Pam's rather large one.

"Are you excited? In just fifteen minutes, you'll be married!" Harley squealed, setting both sets of flowers aside to assist Pam with her dress.

"More than words could ever express," she murmured in slight wonder. As Harley began to pull the zipper up the back of the gown, Pam added, "Harl, don't bother. I don't want you straining yourself or the baby. I can get someone else to do this."

"Only if you want me to shoot you. And being shot on your wedding day doesn't sound like fun. I'm your Matron of Honor. I'm supposed to do this stuff, and I'm going to. That's the end of this discussion!"

Pam smiled and looked towards the full-body mirror as her friend finished zipping her up. The wedding gown was beautiful, if she did say so herself. Its bodice was a tight-fitting corset design and sewn so that it looked like tiny leaves comprised the entirety of it. The skirt half of the dress was made up of layer after layer of tulle fabric in the ball gown style of dress and swirled around her when she moved, as a dress fit for a ball should. Coming from her waist down were sewn pieces of cloth—a combination of satin, silk, and cotton—made to resemble vines with the same type of cloth leaf—which glittered with a few clear sequins upon it—at each end that lay just upon the floor. The sleeves were spaghetti straps that had thin cloth vines and leaves falling from them as well. Pam's hair was done up, with several locks making half, sturdy curls atop her head. It was held in place as though it were a bun. Around the hair was a silver circlet of leaves, hanging from which was a thin gossamer veil. All of the dress, of course, was white.

Harley smiled at Pam's reflection in the mirror. Then, catching sight of herself, she frowned a little. Pam turned to her.

"What's wrong, Harl?"

"Oh. It's just hard to look elegant in any sort of dress with a baby bump. I feel so oafish. Not to say that I'm resentful I'm pregnant…I just wish there was a way to look better in this dress _and_ be pregnant," she laughed.

Pam shook her head. "You look beautiful. Besides, you can't look _too_ beautiful. That's the bride's job."

The two women laughed.

"Like that would ever be a problem with you, Pam. Hell, you were the most beautiful person at _my_ wedding!"

"Don't say that! I was not! How could I be? You put me in that God-awful blue and yellow taffeta gown!"

Harley wiped happy tears from her eyes, and, catching her breath, she retorted, "I thought you would have liked the touch of the yellow flower."

"It was a giant, hideous cloth pin-on flower. No…not hardly."

They erupted into laughter again. Finally, Harley sighed and busied herself with fixing the flowers in the bouquets while Pam was practicing walking in the floor-length dress. Harley was picking at loose leaves in the bouquet and tossing them to the side. Pam was eyeing her a little bit, wincing ever so slightly every time a leaf went flying. Even though she had been declared sane years ago, she was still not all that keen on the destruction of plant-life in any form. She just did not feel the need to kill the destructor of that life anymore.

Harley looked up and saw Pam's pained express. She grinned sheepishly and ceased the plucking of the leaves.

"Just making the bouquet look good," she said quietly.

"Nature is always beautiful, Harl," Pam said, crossing her arms lightly in front of her.

Harley did not argue. Instead, she glanced at her watch. "Five more minutes, then you you take the Big Walk. Nervous?"

Pam's face almost exploded into a smile. "A little. But more of an excited nervous. Does that make sense?"

Harley nodded, moving to hug her friend. The move was a little awkward between trying not to harm the wedding gown, not to crush the bouquets, and trying to make it around Harley's belly. But they managed.

"That's the way I felt when I married Bruce," Harley said, sighing happily.

Pam smiled. "I'm so happy for you, Harley. And so proud."

Harley laughed, hard and loud. "What crazy role reversal is this? I'm supposed to say stuff like that to _you_. It's _your_ wedding day."

Just then, there was another series of dull thuds on the tent's flap. Pam smiled.

"Who is it?"

Barbara Gordon's voice answered, "It's me and Jessica!"

Harley stepped forward and pulled open the flap, holding it as the wheelchair bound Barbara and the short, thin, layered-cut brunette known as Jessica entered. Both women were dressed in periwinkle gowns of identical design. They were long, and straight-cut, with sheer, full-length sleeves. Except for the baby bump, the slight frill at the base of Harley's dress, and the color, all three dresses were drastically similar. Which was just what Pam had wanted.

"Your bride's maids reporting for duty," Jessica said. Barbara nodded.

Pam had met Barbara Gordon through Harley, after she had begun to date Bruce—with whom was very good friends with the former-commissioner Gordon's daughter. Pam had never had very many friends. She was not really a "people person." Never had been. Harley had been her only human friend during their lives as criminals. Jessica was currently Pam's personal secretary at FloraGlobe, Pam's plant-based gene-splicing company. The two had become friends, having to work so close with one another. Jessica was a very competent young woman. So Jessica was a natural choice for a bride's maid, save for Harley.

But when Matt had announced that he had two groom's men as well as his Best Man—friends who had worried over Matt's mysterious disappearance and had searched tirelessly for him—Pam had worried. She wanted the number on both sides to be even, an elegant appearance. Which was all too important to her. She had fretted over who to choose as her other bride's maid. It had been Harley to the rescue. She mentioned Barbara, who Pam had met only once or twice before. And Pam knew that Harley and Barbara had formed a semi-bond, due to past circumstances. So Pam had asked, and Barbara had been more than happy to comply.

"Good," Harley said, interrupting Pam's reflections, "cause it's go time. Remember your order?"

Jessica and Barbara nodded. Pam looked over at Jessica. "Is Annette okay?"

Annette was Jessica's seven-year-old cousin that she had offered up to Pam as her flower girl. Jessica nodded.

"Mr. Wayne is watching her. She's done several weddings though. She's going to meet us in the middle," she answered.

The group lined up in the order of Jessica, Barbara, Harley, and then Pam. Midway to the aisle, at a tiny place built for the express purpose to keep the bride hidden from sight while the Justice of the Peace that had been hired to perform the ceremony (neither Pam nor Matt had any strong religious preference) and Matt took up their positions. Both Pam's and Matt's parents were long dead, so the seating of the parents was cut from the processional. As for who was walking Pam down the aisle, she had asked her long-ago boss, now husband to her best friend—Bruce Wayne—to have the honor. Harley and Bruce had left their young son, Thomas, in the care of the family's set of butlers, Jervis Tetch and Alfred Pennyworth—Alfred being a month away from retirement and sunny beaches.

Matt's two groom's men each took their separate positions beside Jessica and Barbara, while Matt's Best Man—his brother and best friend, Lance—took his place beside Harley. Annette took on her place in front of Pam, who was now linked with Bruce. Pam had chosen not to have a ring bearer, as Thomas was the only option and he was still too young. The music started for the processional to begin—the first song being Enya's "Fairytale." Once the flowergirl had made it down the aisle, leaving a trail of fake rose petals—fake due to Pam's insistance—the song changed to Wedding March. Bruce smiled down at Pam, who took a deep breath and found that her smile could not be wiped off her face.

The walk down the aisle seemed all too slow for Pam. She could see the smiling faces' of her friends and groom at the altar, as well as those of the guests all around her. The Justice of the Peace—a tall, thick-bodied colored man whose hair was beginning to gray in a way that flattered his appearance—was smiling at Pam in an almost paternal manner. Finally, Pam and Bruce reached the altar—which was a simple white arch covered in a beautiful vine. Her escort bent to kiss her cheek then took his seat. Matt, his face absolutely shining with joy, took her hand and held it as he led her to her place at his side, facing the justice who cleared his throat just as the march ended.

"I'd like to begin with a quote from the Bible, First Corinthians 13:4. 'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.' Ladies and gentlemen, by that definition, then we are truly, this day, in the presence of love. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining of Pamela and Matt in the bonds of blessed matrimony."

The justice turned to Matt first.

"Matt, do you take Pam to be your wife?"

Without taking his eyes from her, Matt answered with a smile, "I do."

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her?"

"I do," Matt answered once again.

The justice then turned his attention to Pam.

"Pam, do you take Matt to be your husband?"

Pam was fighting happy tears. "I do."

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?"

"I do."

The justice turned back to Matt. "Do you have the ring?"

Matt's brother handed him the simple, thin, gold wedding band. Matt took it and slowly slid it onto the ring finger of Pam's left hand. He held his hand there, as the justice said, "Repeat after me. I, Matt, take thee, Pam, to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part. With this ring, this promise I make."

Matt repeated the vows, tearing-up a little himself. The justice turned to Pam to ask if she had the ring. Harley handed Pam a thicker version of the wedding band that Matt had slipped onto her hand. Pam placed the ring onto the ring finger of Matt's left hand as the justice readied her to repeat, "I, Pam, take thee, Matt, to be my husband. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, till death do us part. With this ring, this promise I make."

After Pam completed her vows, the justice instructed the two to kiss. And once they had parted, the justice turned them towards the guests, announcing, "Ladies and gentleman, I introduce you to the new Mrs. and Mr. Matt Hagen."

There was much clapping as the processional exited to the southern park of Puckett Park to the reception, followed by the guests.

The reception went off beautifully. Pam and Matt accepted everyone's congratulations, and the first dance between the bride and groom was wonderful. After further dancing, Harley and Lance made their toasts to Pam and Matt's marriage. Then, Pam did something rather unexpected. She lightly tapped her champagne glass to regain the guests' attention. Harley, with a raised eyebrow, passed her the microphone.

"Thank you all for coming. Now, I know that this is a bit unorthodox, but I simply could not wait to give my husband his wedding gift from me," she said.

There was much hooting and hollering from the room. Pam laughed.

"Not quite," she said. Then, turning to Matt, she passed him a key on a simple chain. Matt raised a brow.

"Honey, you know that the exchange of house keys is supposed to be done before marriage, right? And that we've already done that?" he said, loud enough for the guests to hear, who laughed.

Pam smiled. "Honey, this is to show you how much I love and appreciate you." She turned back to the guests, ready to explain. "A few weeks ago, Matt expressed a concern to me. He wanted to know what he was going to do to earn his keep around the house. When I asked what he meant, he told me that he wasn't going to be a kept man. That he wanted to work…to do some good. So this is my solution."

She turned back to Matt. "Honey, this key is to the brand new luxury spa I built named _Serindad Verde_. It's yours, lock, stock, and barrel. You own it, run it, everything. Because I love you."

Matt was oblivious to the applause that filled the park as he leapt from his seat to give his new bride a series of loving kisses, muttering thanks in between them.

Hours later, after garter and bouquet were thrown, the couple drove away in a long limousine just as the first fireworks were being shot into the sky.

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End Notes: OMG, you don't know. You just don't know. This chapter was so hard to right. Okay, so when I last posted on this story, I had two pages of this chapter written, thinking I was almost done. So I took a break, to work on school, my reading—of which I was then horribly behind in—planning a Halloween party, and to partially plan my own wedding which is a little less than two years away. When I got back to this chapter, I saw how much I needed to put into it. Do you know how tedious it is to write a wedding chapter? It's fun, but hard work. Not to mention that my computer keeps freezing up on me. I also stopped to work on the notes for this fic. This fic currently has more notes for it than any of my others. It spans a few pages in a legal pad, a few pages in a mini legal pad, three pieces of paper stapled together (of which their fronts and backs are filled), and my outlining notebook that contains the chapter outlines to all my other fanfics. Massive. Anyhow, I hope this chapter was well worth the wait. It answered only like one question, and raised a few more, I'm sure. All in due time. Please review! And sorry for the massive end notes, I just can't stop.

Disclaimer- I don't own Fairytale or the Wedding March, obviously.


	5. Suspicions

A/N- Okay, sorry for the long wait for this. This fanfic is easily the one I put the most thought into out of all of my other stories here on the site; thus, it takes the longest for me to write and post. Thanks for all the reviews on that last chapter! Now, we're back in present day, once again. We've all got the pattern now, right? Enjoy!

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_Suspicion is the companion of mean souls and the bane of all good society._

--Thomas Paine

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Chapter Five- Suspicions

Harley arrived, shaking from head to toe as if she had been dowsed in ice water, back at the college a little while after her misadventure in the cemetery. She went directly to her office, unlocked the door, and hurled her briefcase inside. She stood in the doorway of the relatively small room—the college, being only a two-year, community institution, rarely had large rooms. She gazed at her desk and the things upon them, searching them. She did not know what it was that she searched for. Finally finding herself acting ridiculously, she made her way to the room her next class was scheduled for, grabbing the textbook she needed as she locked her office door back.

The classroom that was her destination, although not huge, was probably the biggest room that any of the buildings on campus had to offer. It had a small stage up at its front and stadium-style seating, which meant that the floor inclined slightly upwards, with the chairs—which were bolted to the floor—being the plastic kind with the attached desk. The podium Harley liked to teach from—when she did not have to use the VCR, DVD player, or the projection screen to show a movie—was on the floor in front of the stage. She sighed. Laying the textbook on the edge of the stage, she took a hold of the wooden podium and began to drag it to the stage's steps. It was much heavier than it looked. She was sweating slightly from the effort as she finally reached the steps.

"Dr. Wayne?" said a voice behind her, causing her to jump.

"Yes?" she said, a little too loudly, as she whirled.

One of her students, a Mr. Mitchell, was just setting his stuff down in the front row. He smiled sheepishly at her.

"Uh, I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "Can I help?"

Harley graced the blond young man with her half-smile. "Yes, if you could just put it where I usually have it, thank you."

He nodded. Moving much quicker than Harley had, Mitchell had it on the stage, in the center, in moments. He went back to his seat as Harley thanked him again. She climbed the steps, grabbing her textbook as she went, and positioned herself at the podium. It was twenty minutes until class was scheduled to start. At fifteen to the hour, most of the students had arrived and seated themselves. At five till, there were a few stragglers coming through the door. And at six past, after Harley had welcomed the students and begun to lecture, a couple more of her students dragged themselves through the door. She continued her lecture uninterrupted. However, she did briefly add for the newcomers that their tests would be handed back at the end of class.

The hour she had assigned for this class passed too quickly, and Harley—still too shaken to think clearly—announced that the rest of the material would be covered at the beginning of the next class. She took the graded exams, which were safely tucked inside her textbook, and passed them out by calling the student's name and having them come to the front to pick it up. Midway through calling the names, she added that they should take a few moments to look over their tests before leaving, to catch any mistakes she might have made. Along with this, she also mentally chastised herself for not announcing that little tidbit of information at the beginning of passing out the papers, as she usually did.

_Get it together, Harl_, she thought, shaking her head.

However, most of the students had done exactly what she had said, being familiar with the routine from classes past. Once all the papers were gone from her hands, shock emanating from her form that she had all her students there for once, she asked for any questions. A few of the students had the same question about the same number on the test, and Harley was happy to announce that it was a typo, thus became free points. Finally, after a minute or two, only one student had such a trouble with her test that Harley had called her up to the front. The rest of the class exited quickly. Harley climbed down from the stage.

"I'm so sorry to trouble you, Dr. Wayne," said the student, a Miss Johnson.

The young woman's auburn hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and hung down to sweep her black, bulging backpack. She held her test turned towards herself, and her skin had this pink undertone that Harley was sure was not a part of her natural color. She had to be one of those students that hated to have to talk one-on-one with the teacher. She graced the girl with the brightest half-smile she could and gestured that she follow her to her office.

"Not a problem, really. I'm the teacher, answering questions is what I'm here for. But, there's going to be another class in here soon. Let's answer your question in my office, hmm?"

The girl nodded, the pink tinge receding ever so slightly. Harley continued to smile, trying to get the poor girl to relax. She knew what it was like to be so nervous around people who considered themselves her superiors, both in her marriage to Bruce and back in her life of crime. Harley shivered involuntarily, remembering the incident in her car suddenly.

"Are you okay, Dr. Wayne?" Miss Johnson asked, her eyes wide as if Harley had just spontaneously combusted.

Harley blushed a little. It must have been a pretty big shiver to warrant such a look from the young woman. She shook her head dismissively as the two emerged from the classroom and exited the building. Johnson nodded, a little like she did not quite believe her dismissal, but said nothing, nonetheless. They crossed the small courtyard that lay between the building that had held their classroom to the Administration Building that held Harley's office.

Once inside, they took a small walk down the left-side corridor and quickly found themselves face to face with her office door. She withdrew her key and unlocked it, stepping inside.

"Come in, please, Miss Johnson. We'll get this straightened out right away," she said, gesturing the girl into a seat beside her desk.

"Okay," she said, sidling into the room and slipping her backpack off as she sat. "Oh! Is that from Mr. Wayne?"

Harley had not taken in any details of her usually familiar office until she had said that. Looking up, she saw, as plain as day, on her desk a small vase sporting only a single, budded red rose. Around the stem was a tag, the writing turned away from both Harley and the student. Instantly, she found herself ridged. Miss Johnson blinked at her professor, rising slightly from the seat she had just taken. She reached a slow hand out and lightly placed it on Harley's elbow, still crooked and holding the key inside its lock.

"Dr. Wayne? Are you really sure you're okay? I can come back…" the girl said, her free hand moving backwards, either to reach for her backpack and leave or to find the phone and call for some sort of help.

Harley blinked several times, staring at the young woman as if she had not noticed her move. In truth, she had not. Her eyes had been glued to the rose since she had mentioned it. Harley pursed her lips briefly and then half-smiled.

"Yes, yes…our anniversary, of course. I was just surprised," Harley lied. Bruce well knew, just as Harley did, that their anniversary was not for another three months. He never forgot.

And he also knew her…dislike of roses, due to obvious reasons from her past. Harley slid into her seat on the other side of her desk, careful to avoid the offending flower. The writing on the tag was still hidden from her sight as she finally tore her eyes away and focused them on Miss Johnson, who had tentatively retaken her seat.

"I'm sorry. I know I've seemed kind of spacey," Harley began, knowing she ought to at least put the poor girl's mind at ease…even if she could not do the same for herself. "I was nearly in a car wreck of sorts on my lunch break. No one was hurt, including the cars, but it shook me up a little, I guess."

Instantly, Miss Johnson relaxed. The girl nodded knowingly and shared a brief anecdote about a little fender-bender she had been in a few months back. She ended her story with reassuring words about safety and "accidents happen."

"Indeed they do," Harley agreed, determinedly not staring at the rose.

It sat, rather smugly for an inanimate object, right in Harley's eyeshot of her student, but Harley would not put her attention on it. Instead, she focused on Miss Johnson, who was now pointing out the troubles on her paper. It seemed that Harley had gotten a little red ink happy with the poor girl's paper. Harley nodded as Johnson stated her case and pulled out the answer key, agreeing that the test did indeed have more points taken off than what was warranted. Harley corrected both the paper and the grade in her grade book—sure to do so in front of Johnson, to reassure her once more.

"There you go," Harley announced as she finished up in the book. "That brings you from a B to an A. Well done."

"Thanks so much. Again, I'm sorry to have bothered you," she said, lifting her backpack and placing it on her shoulders.

"Oh, not a problem," Harley said, standing to see the young woman out. "Again, that's what I'm here for."

Johnson made her way to the door, stopping in the threshold to smile back at her teacher. She thanked her once again and paused, her eyes on the rose.

"Mr. Wayne must be so sweet. Happy Anniversary, Dr. Wayne," she said, leaving as Harley muttered her thanks and asked the girl to shut the door behind her.

As the click of the office door filled the room, Harley sank down into her office chair, now staring at the rose once more. She lifted a hand, slowly, and tentatively reached for the tag. Her fingertips stopped just at the pink cardstock tag, barely brushing it. A part of her deeply wished she was wrong about Bruce, that he had indeed sent her the flower, forgetting her deep hatred of the delicately folded, crimson blossom. She took a deep breath and lightly flicked the tag, flipping it over. Her eyes widened.

There was no writing upon it, instead only a picture, crudely drawn. It was of a heart, like one might see on a Valentine's Day card or some such, only on each of the two bulges at the top of the heart were marks…simple little drawings of the tiniest incisions that were all too familiar to Harley. Poised above one of the marks were the drawings of a crude chisel and a hammer above that, ready to strike. Harley's hand shook as she quietly gasped. She could feel a scream welling up inside of her so much so that her jaw quivered with it.

"Ah!" she cried out, trying to smother it as much as possible, as she swept her hand quickly across the air to fling the flower and vase into the nearest wall.

The vase shattered into several chunks, water from within it wetting the carpet, and the rose and its horrible tag lay among the ruins. Harley shook her head, and, grabbing her briefcase and keys, hurled herself out of her office, slamming the door behind her.

…………………**.**

Bruce Wayne leaned back in his large office chair and stared down the long conference table, filled with other members of the WayneTech Board, at the computer projection showing a simple line graph, its crimson line steadily rising skyward. A red dot appeared on the screen and a voice—Pamela Isley-Hagen's voice—began to describe the benefits that the red line represented. Bruce, along with his Board Members, nodded as she spoke.

Pamela had been at her presentation for fifteen minutes now, and had gotten so excited at some points that a few strands of her bright red hair were shaking loose from her low ponytail. She cleared her throat, straightened her black ladies' business suit, and put away her laser pointer.

"I'll be blunt, ladies and gentlemen of the Board," she said, coming to stand at the end of the conference table directly opposite Bruce's. "I propose marriage. A marriage between WayneTech and FloraGlobe on my latest project. I wish to combine nanotechnology with that of plant-splicing to produce…well, the opportunities are endless! We could do so much! Think of the medical advancements we could make alone, and that's just the beginning. Put your imaginations to work, Board Members."

At this, she slid into the empty chair just before her, resting clasped hands on the smooth table surface. This proposal of hers had set the Board Members chattering about "possibilities." Bruce and Pam alone were silent, looking on. Finally, one voice rose out from all the chatter, directed at both CEOs present.

"Think of the weapons applications!"

The voice was that of the youngest, and newest, man on the Board, a real up-and-comer, named Jordan Pryce. His sleek blonde hair and pointed features always set Bruce's mind on edge, but the man's abilities were not to be disputed. He was good at his job, no doubt, but a bit ambitious. The other Board Members fell silent. Jordon blinked in confusion, staring between Pam and Bruce.

"No weapons," the two CEOs said simultaneously.

"I will not create something that could possibly destroy our fragile plant ecosystems, not to mention human life," Pam explained further.

Bruce had to fight a smirk. Reformed or not, plants still rated first on Pam's "To Do" list. But at least she cared about human life as well now, even if it only came in second. Bruce cleared his throat to call Pryce's eyes towards him. He lowered his voice, not to his old Batman levels, but enough to be sufficiently menacing.

"WayneTech will _never_ host a weapons project so long as I head this company, and, God willing, nor will it do so when one of my children takes over. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr. Pryce, but it would be best directed elsewhere. Weapons will always be a no," Bruce said, making sure that Jordan understood him fully.

Pryce's eyes shook in the way that they might if his whole body were shaking, but nothing else on him was moving. Bruce gave the tiniest of smirks. Pryce did, indeed, understand. Satisfied, Bruce gave a small nod and stood.

"We thank you for your interest in this…marriage, Dr. Isley. This Board will adjourn and reconvene at a later time with our minds made up. But, if I may speak for everyone, this prospect is very interesting, and I believe that we will end up partnering on it."

The other members of the Board nodded agreements as they stood and gathered the packet of documents each had been handed on the project. Pamela stood as well, a bright smile on her face. As the members of the Board filed out of the room, Bruce turned and put his attention upon the coffee maker set at the back of the room. He poured himself a still-hot cup of the dark liquid and turned back around, surprised to see that Pamela alone was left in the room with him. She approached him, and he offered her a cup of coffee, which she declined.

"Bruce, may I have a private word in your ear?" she asked, lowering her voice to just above a whisper.

Bruce blinked at her, but nodded, moving to close the conference room door. He set himself upon the table itself, in between two chairs, and eyed Pamela. Her whole demeanor was quite different than what it had been during the meeting. Where she had previously been excited and energetic, she now looked tired and perturbed, if not a bit angry.

"Is there something wrong, Pam? You look upset," he noted.

Pamela rubbed her forehead with a hand and sighed, letting it drop limply to her side. She took the seat that Bruce had previously occupied and leaned her head on one hand, propped up by her elbow.

"My computer specialists tell me that someone recently hacked into my computer systems," she said slowly.

Bruce's eyes widened. "Did whoever did this get anything?"

She shook her head. "No. Thankfully. My defense system online is quite relentless…my people say that they have no idea what that person was after, and that it looked like it was just someone hacking in because they could. But I used to be a criminal, Bruce, stealing from big companies things that I needed for my own research. I saw immediately what the person or persons had been after."

"And that was?"

"My gene-splicing technology."

Bruce set his coffee cup down, letting the ceramic mug—homemade by a joint effort of Tom and Lil' Pam that read "Number One Dad"—make the tiniest little _clink_ against the table. Bruce slid off and moved into a chair closer to Pam, who looked more agitated than worried about the attempted theft. He knew better than to ask if she was sure about the intents of the hacker. She was right about having the knowledge of big company thefts. After all, how many times had Batman put her away, finding her through such a trail?

"What do you intend to do about it?" Bruce asked after a long moment.

At this, Pam sighed and leaned back a little in her chair. "Actually, that's where you come in."

"How so?"

She drummed her fingers on the table, her nails clicking rhythmically. She seemed to be wording a very difficult question. Finally, she leaned towards him, a bit conspiratorially, and said, in a low voice, "I've heard no specifics, but…Harley mentioned, way back when in an off-handed way, that you had…ways of getting information. Ways that no one else had. Now, I was wondering, if I gave your…connection the same things my computer people saw, could you track who it was that hacked me?"

At this, Bruce's eyes darkened and narrowed. He leaned away from Pam a little bit, eyeing her. After a few moments, all the while Pam looking at him with questioning eyes, he crossed his arms.

"What would you do with the information, assuming I could get it for you?" he asked.

At this, Pam leaned back and laughed. She shook her head.

"Are you worried that I'll hunt them down? Like _Ivy_ used to? No, Bruce. In fact, I would be a most gracious bonus if your connection could dig up something that would stand up in court."

Bruce continued his thoughtful scan of Pam, trying to read if she was telling the truth. Finally, he sighed, standing. Pam stood as well.

"Get me your information, and I'll do whatever I can to help."

With a big smile, Pam reached inside her blazer and withdrew a CD, handing it to him. His brow arched.

"How did you know I was going to say yes?" he asked, slipping the disc into his own jacket's pocket.

Pam smiled and tweaked his cheek. "Because you seem like the type who can't say no to a friend. And besides, I was going to use the fact that I'm godmother to one of your children if you said no. See you later?"

She moved to the conference room's door while Bruce shook his head.

"Yeah. I'm sure Harley will want you over for dinner again soon. You really are quite conniving, you know," he said, a small grin on his face.

Pam blew him a kiss, opened the door, and left. Bruce groaned a little as the door shut behind her. He took his seat on top of the table again, leaning over to reach the phone in the center. First, he hit the intercom, letting his secretary know that he would be out of his office for a little while longer, taking a private telephone call, and he was not to be disturbed. Once the woman acknowledged his words, he turned off the intercom and dialed a number he knew by heart.

By all rights, it was one he should have forgotten by now…one that Harley had assumed he probably had. However, it was one he still found himself using quite often. He turned down the volume on the speakerphone and listened as it rang on the other end. Four times, then the click of connection.

"Oracle. May I assume this is who I think it is?" came Barbara Gordon's voice.

Bruce grinned mischievously. "Depends. Who do you think it is?"

"Ha ha, Bruce. It's not like many people have this number. It's unlisted. What's up? Call the wrong house number by mistake?"

"Not quite. I was just asked a favor by Pam and I knew you were the one to help me do it."

"Your daughter or your wife's best friend?"

"Doctor Pamela Isley, Oracle. I doubt I would need Oracle's help for anything my Lil' Pam would ask me for."

"What about that time you guys couldn't find her stuffed rabbit?"

There was laughter in Oracle's voice, Bruce growled softly.

"We're getting off point. Doctor Isley recently asked for my help in identifying a hacker. Someone was trying to steal her gene-splicing research."

Now Bruce could hear the click-clacking of a keyboard on the other end of the receiver. He gave a small smile. Barbara Gordon, or her alternate persona Oracle, could never resist a challenge.

"Do you think it was an individual effort or a rival company?" she asked, all seriousness now.

"I'm not sure. Let's keep that option open until we have more information. Now, as I'm sure you're finding out at this moment, Pam's computer systems are well guarded. She gave me a disc of what she found after they had been hacked. I'll come over tomorrow and bring it to you," Bruce said, sliding off the table to stand.

"I could just hack in myself," Barbara said innocently.

"Let's not get Pam all riled up over an unnecessary _two_ hackers."

Oracle laughed, and Bruce could almost hear her shaking her head. "Old habits die hard, huh?"

Bruce averted his eyes, as if she could see him through the phone. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Does Harley know that every time something even remotely odd and possibly crime related happens in this town that you call me to check into it? This, the blackout, and you've done it in times before. Ever since you've stopped being _him_. But you've never really stopped have you?" Oracle said, her voice teasing.

"I haven't touched that costume since Lil' Pam was born," he all but whispered.

Oracle laughed again. "You've never needed the costume to be him, as much as I've never needed a costume to be Oracle."

There was silence that followed. Oracle was right, and Bruce knew it. He could not help but investigate the crimes in Gotham, no matter how insignificant they mostly were these days. Finally, Oracle sighed.

"I'll look into it and see what I can find. Just bring the disc over Saturday. See you, Bruce," she said, followed by a click.

Bruce stared at the phone for a long moment. If Harley ever found out…but Oracle would never tell her. He did what he did to keep the city safe…to keep his family safe. But Harley would never see it that way. So, he kept it secret.

He reached over and turned off the phone. Shaking his head, he turned and left the conference room, lost in thought about broken promises.

…………………

Commissioner Renee Montoya sat behind her office's desk, the telephone receiver pressed to her ear. She tapped her finger lightly on the papers before her. They were spread nearly across her desk, save for a small spot for her coffee mug. Pictures of the burnt out power box from downtown were scattered among written reports taken from various people during the black out and from the power company themselves, reporting on the cause of the massive power outage that had occurred. A squirrel caught in the power box…but that explanation did not sit well with Montoya…nor did it sit well with the person on the other end of the phone receiver.

"Yes, Mayor Gordon, I agree whole-heartedly. I have the file on the black out right here before me. I do believe that there is more to it than that it appears," she said, idly picking up a picture before laying it back down.

"A squirrel can't get into those power boxes, Renee. They're padlocked," he said, and Renee could almost see her old commissioner rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

Renee blinked. She knew that he was right; any random citizen of Gotham knew that if they simply paid attention. She shook her head.

"There was no report of a broken padlock or a padlock at all, Mayor. Do you think someone put the squirrel's carcass in the box and someone else is covering it up?"

"I don't know, but things aren't adding up with this business. As far as the city is concerned, all is said and done about this. I'd like to keep it that way…I don't want to unnecessarily cause a panic. But keep this one open. Two and two isn't five, so we need to find that missing one. I'll leave you to it. Good day," Gordon said.

"Good day, Mayor," she said, hanging up the receiver.

Renee leaned forward, propping her head in her hands. Who would willingly put a squirrel into a power box just to cause a black out? Back in the day, that answer would be simple, but that was an impossibility now. That particular criminal was permanently, finally, behind bars, in no condition to do anything of this sort. Renee leaned back in her chair. Why a squirrel? If you go to all the trouble to break the padlock, why not just cut the lines? The commissioner's thoughts were interrupted by her telephone's loud ring. She snatched up the receiver.

"Montoya," she said.

"Commissioner, we have a bit of a situation here in downtown," came one of her patrolman's voices.

"What is it?"

The patrolman stumbled a little over his words for a moment, before finally sighing.

"There are cows running amok here in downtown Gotham. It seems they got loose from some cattle auction that's being held outside of town and made their way into downtown."

Renee arched a brow. "I believe that would be Animal Control's jurisdiction, Officer."

"With permission, Commissioner, Animal Control is here, but there are too many of them for them to control. They are requesting police assistance."

Renee knew she was going to dread the answer to her next question.

"How many of them are there?"

"Several, ma'am. I don't have an exact number, but enough to be scary. They're rampaging and causing all kinds of damage. We had to rescue one woman from her car."

Commissioner Montoya stood. "I'll send out several squads to assist, and I'll be with them. Hang tight."

She slammed the receiver down, pausing for just a moment afterwards. Cows? In Gotham? James Gordon was right. Things were not adding up. Shaking her head, she grabbed her trench coat and ran out of her office, shouting orders.

* * *

End Notes: Sometimes, reality is just stranger than fiction. We actually had cows running loose in the downtown sector of the city I live in. In fact, they were mostly gathered around the college's campus. I was in a different town at the time, so I heard about it after it happened, and there was nowhere near as many as I put down here…but there were still, like, five or something running around. Crazy. Anyhow, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. The flashback chapters are a little bit easier for me to write, so maybe the wait won't be as long for the next chapter. However, I am working towards finishing up some of the stories I have up on this site that are fully outlined, so it will be a little bit of a wait. Anyway, please review!

Note: If some of the things used in this story seem as if they come from the Batman Beyond universe, that's because they do. I'm disregarding most of that, but I'm still going to pluck things from it here and there. And, as usual, I don't own Batman Beyond or anything related to it.


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